Harper's Bride Read Online Free PDF

Rafe's drinking. But he couldn't resist a comment now, when
just walking across room had left the man panting for breath. "I
don't suppose that liquor is going to do much for your
condition."
    Rafe fixed him with a look so suddenly sharp
and cold, Dylan lifted his brows. "Rheumatism fever sealed my fate
when I was twelve years old, Dylan. As it is, my heart has lasted
longer than the doctors thought it would. Now I didn't come to the
Yukon to search for gold, and I sure as hell didn't come up here
for my health. I came just for the fun of it. My time is short, and
I intend to make the most of what's left."
    Dylan shrugged and shook his head. Every man
had to find his own path. That's what an old prospector had told
him, and he'd come to recognize the unshakable truth of it. He had
to admire the fact that Rafe spoke so casually and pragmatically of
his own death.
    "I don't know what fun there is in being
jostled by this pack," Dylan commented. He had spent his life in
the clean, misty shadow of the Cascade Mountains and wanted nothing
more than to go back to it, to live on his own land, on his own
terms. "All I want is to make my money and leave."
    Rafe laughed shortly, his biting humor
restored. "Oh, but that's where we differ, my friend. Over the
years I've seen many examples of man's folly. This is the best yet,
and it's been my privilege to witness it. Some of these people gave
up everything to come up here. They sold prosperous businesses,
they left wives and children, or as in the case of that fool,
Logan, brought them along. They took their lives in their hands to
make the passage, camped in tents on frozen lakes for the
winter—they risked everything to race up here only to discover
there's nothing left for them. And some of those who have made
money have lost it to me at the gaming tables." He chuckled
ruefully. "It's a damned tragedy, if only they knew it."
    At the mention of Coy Logan, Dylan tossed
back a second drink. He knew it was cowardly to dawdle here, and he
was no coward. "I'd better get back to work," he said.
    Rafe tipped him a knowing look and grinned
again, that wide, white-toothed smile. "That's fine, you go on." He
lifted his head to scan the card tables. "I believe I see a game
that bears closer inspection."
    They parted then, and Dylan elbowed his way
through the horde and out to the street. Outside, the milling
parade of men continued like fallen leaves caught in a stream eddy.
It was a hell of a thing when a man lost his direction, Dylan
thought as he glanced at their blank faces. Anything could derail
him—the dream of easy money, a twist of fate, an itch for a
faithless woman.
    The faint rumble of dancing feet and a
discordant blur of music poured out of the open saloon doors along
Front Street—piano, fiddle, harmonica, even accordion strains, all
jumbled together. Loud, raucous laughter and voices lifted in song
added to the din. God, he wanted to get away from here.
    As Dylan climbed the stairs to his room, the
smell of home cooking wafted to him, and his steps slowed. At first
he thought it was carried on the breeze from one of the saloons,
but it grew stronger as he approached his own landing. Pushing open
the door, he found the room straightened, and the little table was
set with two tin plates and silver. Melissa had cooked dinner?
    This was a rarity for him; he got most of his
meals in the saloons in town. He didn't even keep much food up
here. Looking around, he saw pans on the stove, and Melissa putting
down the baby in an old crate. Seeing him, she whirled, obviously
startled, and backed up a couple of paces. She watched him with
wary gray eyes, as if he were a cougar that had stalked into her
campsite.
    Well, damn, he wasn't going to bite her, he
thought, feeling out of place in his own room. She didn't have to
jump away from him like that.
    "I-I didn't know if you wanted dinner, but— I
hope bacon and biscuits are all right." She never seemed to raise
her voice above a murmur. Her